HD 'Proof Positive' for chochowilliams
by tigersilver
Summary: Slash! AU. Hermione & Ron are not at all understanding of Harry's relationship with one Draco Malfoy. Being Gryffindor to the eyeteeth, he sets out to boldly prove its existence.


Author: .com/profile**tigersilver**  
>Rating: NC-17<br>Word Count: 2,700  
>WarningsSummary: Exhibitionism, planned, as per the .com/profile**hp_kinkmemes** post here. Ron and Hermione get an eyeful, in the hopes of convincing them once and for all Harry and Draco are here to stay.

For chochowilliams, who wanted Harry's two mates to receive a bit of a comeuppance of their own. Perhaps this wasn't what you had in mind, dear, but I did try, luv! Hope you like, anyway.

**'Proof Positive'**

"I'm not going there, Potter."

"Oh, come on, Malfoy. I'm sick to death of it and they just won't listen."

"Oh, no. No, no, no. We aren't a show for your mates, prat, and it's my arse they'll see. You think they'll not ridicule me? Because they will. I can't even speak to you in the hall without your pet git Weaselbee muscling in to stomp on my pretensions. How many toes has he injured now? Three? Not to mention my poor ribs, Potter. He's got damn sharp elbows for a big lug, hasn't he? That ginger git of yours is a bloody menace, walking. And then your Granger sneers at me—constantly. Rude as anything. Intolerable."

"Malfoy," Harry said patiently, "Malfoy, that's exactly the sort of behaviour I want to stop. And my idea will work, I promise. They won't be left a leg to stand on."

Malfoy appeared very dubious over that idea.

"Huh," he snorted. "Hmmm, I don't think so, Potter; I think they've more limbs than the Squid does when it comes to standing about on them and objecting to me. They've never even so much as scowled at me halfway kindly, alright? I hardly think being boinked by their Boy will change that."

"Draco." Harry was very seriously set upon this silly notion of his; clearly, as he saved the use of Draco's given name for those occasions when he wanted to wheedle. "Draco, I can't stand it. Dunno how you can, either. Come on, git! I want to be seen with you; I want it known, alright, and to do that we'll need some support. They're my best mates, damn them, and they _will_ come 'round—if only there's proof. Positive proof. So, er...come on, please? Cooperate this one time?"

"Nhh," Draco mumbled—steady neck-chewing tended to distract him righteously—"um, ah! Oh, right there—that's it. Ahhhh...I dunno—I, really, Harry—can't see it—they'll just..."

"Draa-cooh," Harry coaxed. "For me?"

…Which was how it came to be that rudesby Granger and the lump of a Weaselbee sat upon their contrary arses upon a sofa in the Room of Requirement, propped with popcorn, pretzels, salted nuts and an ever-full pitcher of pumpkin juice ('And butterbeer for Ron," Harry had added, smiling, ''cause likely he'll be wanting something stronger, yeah?')

They'd been lured to the refurbished Room by a slyly shy Potter, who'd promised them something big, something major—a 'special secret' he wanted to share.

For Draco, perched nervously upon the opposing divan, clad in just his mostly unbuttoned shirt, it was a gruelling moment. It had taken rather a lot of persuasion on his boyfriend's part to install him thus, half-naked and waiting to take Potter's rather awesomely super-fantastic cock up his fanny.

"Um." Granger stared wall-eyed at Draco, a faint blush rising fast upon her youthful cheeks. "Um, um. Uh, Harry? Why is, ah—why, precisely, is Malfoy here?"

"Wearing—" Weaselbee gulped hard, his eyes firmly fixed upon Draco's mussed hair, "wearing very little, mate? Is it a prank, then? Is he Imperious'd?"

"Hardly!" Draco scoffed at them, scowling. "As if, Weaselbee. No, I'm here because you two are total nit—"

"As to that," Harry inserted hastily, rising from his seat beside Draco and making his way 'round to the back of the sofa. "He's here because you two aren't listening very well, guys. So we—"

"You, Potter!" Draco made sure to point out. "_You_; this is all your brilliant idea!"

"Shut it, Malfoy—" An intent Potter barely paused in his explanation. "Look here, Ron, Hermione. We wanted to, erm, uh…demonstrate. Demonstrate—that's it. Um, give you some proof."

"…Proof?" Granger echoed, a species of shocked realization dawning upon her horrified features. "Oh, _no_, Harry! That's not necessary—I mean, it's hot and all, but no! No, really-no!"

"You're—you're serious, mate?" Weaselbee faltered, his pleading gaze refocussed abruptly and latching onto Potter, as a drowning man would upon a floating spar. Actually, he looked more like a Crup pup who'd been kicked in passing would: wounded, vastly betrayed and likely more than ready to yelp and whinge about it. "'Cause please don't, mate, if you are. We'll take your word for it, right? No more—no need. Ah! _No__-_please-and-thank-you!"

"No," Harry stated decidedly, shaking his head in the negative, "and no. You _won't_, Ron. I know you. You'll fall right back into your same old, same old poor habits and me and Draco here are sick to death of your grousing, yeah? And Hermione, too. In fact, can't bloody well stand this a'tall anymore, actually—we _are _together, you know? Me and Malfoy here: to-_gether_. As in shagging, snogging, dating down the village on the weekend; all that nonsense. Besides, we've need of your help, the both of you. I'm fagged with not being able to spend time with my boy—"

"Potter! Potter, that's all very well—nice speech and so forth and so on, yes, but," Draco interjected, nervously wriggling his toes in the carpet. He was also a bit chilled, what with having no real clothes on, and the two yobs across from them were only just sitting and gawping at them. "Get on with this. I'm losing my nerve here. Not to mention my bollocks are about to crawl up my arse-"

"Oh!" Harry blushed, leaning forward to give his lover's long pale neck and wide shoulders a fleeting embrace. "I'm so sorry, babe. Er…um, shall we, then?"

"Right, sure thing..." Draco tilted his head to focus severely upon his idiot Gryffindor boyfriend. The one who had great plans but sometimes neglected the finer details. "And how, exactly, _do_ you propose to do it for them, Potter? Here—or over there?"

He flung out an accusing forefinger, indicating the giant four-poster bed the Room had kindly provided, situated just out of the more intimate circle created by the two sofas, the oval hearth rug and the low table set cozily between them. "Over yonder? Cause they'll not be able to see much of anything good, dumb arse, not if we're over there. Now, me, I admit I prefer a good, springy mattress—better all 'round, really, coming or going—but it's your call, Potter, so get it in gear, yeah?"

The eyes of both Gryffindors swiveled to exam the bed. Draco noticed Weasley had developed a sudden facial tic and Granger seemed to be swaying, as if caught in a strong wind.

"Um…here, then. We'll do it here," Harry decided abruptly, taking hold of Draco's shoulders and tugging uselessly at them. "Come up and 'round, please. Over the back of the divan, alright? Then they can't see absolutely everything—"

"All to the better," Draco snuck in, darkly. "I'm sure."

"But they'll still know it's true—that we're lovers."

"Lovers!" Granger echoed blankly. Weaselbee simply went white as parchment. "Lo-lovers, Harry? You mean you-you...?"

"No! Not just," Potter waffled, then set his chin. "I mean-I _meant_ that I love you, Draco…er." Not that he didn't stumble over that bit, gasping a tad and blinking rapidly. "Cause I do." Harry-deliciously—went beet red. Draco curled his upper lips and tilted his head, awaiting the rest of it with glee. "Er...a great deal. And have, too," he added, pugnaciously. "Since before."

Granger's eyebrows met her hairline briefly and then disappeared entirely. She parted her lips but said nothing.

"Ohhhh!" The Weasel clutched his stomach with both paws and began to rock. It was rather...pathetic. "Oh-ho-ho-ho!"

"And I you, git-for-brains," a quite gratified but somewhat disgusted Draco made sure to announce loudly, both for _his_ Harry's sake and to shove the admittedly bare-naked facts of the Potter-Malfoy alliance straight up the nosy, pointy and, above all, disapproving nostrils of their unhappy audience. "…Oh?" He arched a brow at the Gryffin-gits. "Kneazle got your tongues now? Nothing to more to say, peoples?"

"Draco…come, do. And stop baiting them."

Weaselbee, Draco noted as he rose obediently, looked simply to be gobsmacked; his cheeks had flamed a brilliant scarlet, his jaw was resting lax upon his chest. And Granger—that swot—she was much the same, excepting that she was licking her lips in a very odd manner, quick and hungry-like. In, out; in and out went the tip of her little pink tongue, just as Harry would soon be sawing in-out of Draco's willing arsehole.

"Pfft!" he huffed contentiously, arriving at Harry's side with a flap of fine lawn shirting. "You'd think they never heard of live porn, Foureyes!" He tilted his chin mockingly at them as Harry grasped his bare hips and yanked at them gently, guiding him into position so his stomach lay pressed close over the spine of the couch. Draco's gaze narrowed upon the lost look in the Weasel's common blue eyes as he descended gracefully onto the cushioned tufts of upholstery. "Hmph!" he jibed. "Are you certain you've reached majority, Weaselbee? D'you grasp what we're doing here? Because you'll draw flies with a mouth like that—"

"Babe," Harry leant over and captured Draco's smirking mouth for a quick hard kiss, fingertips wrenching his chin 'round upon his willowy neck to do so. "Don't stir things up, alright? We've a job to—"

"M'not a 'job', Potter!" Draco huffed righteously, right in Potter's worried face. "I'm a treat-and-a-half, you gumptious prat! Better be appreciating me, wanker. I wouldn't do this for just any old—"

"I know, love," Harry cooed in his ear, leaving Draco's chin go at last…and incidentally leaving dampened, pinkened skin and quite kiss-bitten lips behind him, too. "I do realize, really. Just, er. Just lean forward, alright? Relax, babe. I'll do the work."

"Mmm," Draco agreed with that idea; he'd enough to do, what with staring down the Swot and the Weaselbee. "M'kay. But...hurry, Harry."

"Yes, yes."

"...Harry?" Granger finally—finally!—managed to squeak out a further response to the shockingly prurient events shortly to take place before her appalled eyeballs. "Are you—will you—I mean, it's really _Malfoy_ you're…? You're…?"

"Shagging?" Draco prompted casually, shrugging. "Why, yes, in fact. It would be me. So sorry to burst your bubble, Granger. Did you think it was some other bloke?"

"Ma-Ma-Ma-!" Weaselbee stuttered. "Ha-Ha-Ha! H-Him? It's true, then? You're—you're—"

"Yes, Ron," Harry cut in wearily. Draco only rolled his eyeballs. "It is and now we'll prove it to you. Right, so…ready, everyone? Let's go."

He incanted the lovely spell that simultaneously stretched and lubed; Draco shivered in reaction to it, his stomach rubbing queasily across the faded plush of the divan.

"Um, Harry…" he muttered, craning his neck just enough to glance fleetingly up into his lover's intent visage, "...come to think, I dunno about thi—**ark**!" He squawked piteously, penetrated. "_Aaack_, arsehole—watch the battering-ram effect, damn it! That's my poor—"

"Love you, babe; easy now," Harry crooned sweetly, softly, his lambent green eyes fixed upon Draco's stormy rolling ones with every indication of ardour. "Breathe in, m'love. Breathe out—yes, that's it. I'll take it nice and slow—promise."

"Ha-ha-hardly slow, Ha-Har-Harry!" Draco squeaked. "This-this is! Not! Sloooow-ye_**oowch**_, bastard!"

Granger also squeaked; rather, she emitted the same sort of noise a terrified mouse might make.

"You—you-re-really—_Merlin_!" she panted, shifting her Muggleborn bum uneasily on the cushions beneath her. Her brown eyes were near to popping, so wide open were they. "That's so—that's…my _gawd_, Harry!"

Harry, likely encouraged by his audience, had got his act together meanwhile. Draco moaned over the improvements and his wails certainly weren't due to ill usage.

"Eeep!" Weaselbee's voice had also entered upon a higher altitude, where there was evidently far less oxygen. He sounded as though he'd huffed a great lot of that Muggle element, hydrogen. Er...helium. Or perhaps had stumbled upon a great nest of spiders. "Errrr..."

Harry, as Draco recalled with the wee part of his brain not actively melting, had mentioned his best mate had a terribly difficult time with arachnoids.

Still and all, Draco couldn't help but be secretly pleased by his lover's mate's reactions. It was his arse on show, and it was Potter who was shagging it. Could've been a bit humiliating if it weren't that Harry's mates were so clearly bowled over. By which he meant impressed. As they were, absolutely.

Draco grinned at them, as far as he was able.

"Love, alright?" came the beloved voice in his ear, breathlessly concerned. "Draco?"

"Um," Draco nodded, slumping forward. "Lovely, thanks. And, um, more," he begged, "and, erm, yes!—harder. Show must—show must go on, what?"

"Oh, aye! Anything you want, babe," Harry promised him fervently. "Anything!"

Gallantly, Draco raised his chin, adjusting to the new, smoother rhythm, and then ventured to propping himself upon his elbows. Granger and the Weaselbee should see this, he thought; him being pummeled by their precious Potter.

If that's what—"Ah! Ahhh, **Harry**!"—it took, he'd do it.

"Oh, love, my love…" Harry whispered sweetly and thrust like the sodding dickens. "You—you're just—I fucking well love you!"

"Nhgh! Nghhh...! Neep!" Granger was actively hyperventilating, sharp brown gaze glazed over; Draco's nipples were so distended they could poke holes through the worn fabric and the Weasley git was speechless, which was vastly preferable. "Harry?" Granger gasped. "Ma-Malfoy?"

"Yes!" Harry exclaimed. He waved a hand down at his pink-cheeked lover. "Yes! Clearly, Hermione!"

"Um—um, really, mate?" Weaselbee had found his tongue at long last but was redder than any conceivable shade of red in the normal spectrum. He'd steam issuing from his ears, practically, and he was swallowing hard, and so often his Adam's apple bobbed like one of those floats on a fishing pole. "Must—_must you_?"

"Yes!" Draco howled. "He _must_, al-alright? Shut it, Weasel-please?"

"...oh gods, yessss..." Harry hissed contrapuntally and the Weasel did indeed shut his trap right smart.

There was a moment more of rather noisy (what with everyone's elevated breathing and smacking of various people's lips) voyeurism engaged in. Then...

"Ronaaaald?" Granger trilled suddenly, her bushy head slewing about to face her seatmate. "Oh….Ronnikins?"

Draco ignored them both, by and large. Personally, he was oblivious by then, excepting the exceptional length of Potter engorged and moving smoothly within his backside. 'Specially when, with an extra jerk and throb, the nub of Harry's willy repeatedly banged away at his prostate.

Draco howled again, arching his throat, sweat-drenched head lolling. He could feel the weight of his lover, hot and as damp with perspiration and musk as he leaning hard against his spine and hips. It was perhaps the best thing in the entire world, all that lovely Pottery sensation, in and above and all about him.

"Po—Hah! Har-_ry_!" he huffed. "There! Just—just there!"

"Yes, love—yes, there!" And his Harry cheerily obliged him, never looking away from the sultry picture the firelight painted of one Draco Malfoy, starched white shirttails flapping about his thighs, blushing arse-cheeks spread wide, hole pierced and indubitably owned by his favourite—_his only_—his _personal_ Gryffindor.

"Oh-my-Merlin-there—right there….yesss," he moaned, flopping about on the ridge of the sofa back. The tufted buttons dug into his abdomen; Harry's prick reamed him harder than hard. Draco loved it; adored it—could never _not_ have it in his life. He'd die first...really, he would. "Harry."

"Baby!"

"_Harry_…ah! Urrrgh—nnnh—Harrrreee!"

The cock within him pumped a few times, shimmying; throbbing and bucking finally as it thrust against the sudden constriction of Draco's internal organs; Draco felt every inch of it, imbedded deep in him, and was gladder than he'd ever been of anything, including the death of Voldemort.

This was it: proof, then. Q.E.D. So, triumphant, Draco came.

"Oooooh, Draco!" his heart-mate growled, trailing sloppy kisses across Draco's disappeared part and all through his marvelously mussed tendrils of curling fairer-than-fair hair. "Oh, my love, you're so—so—beau—Ahh! Ah-**hah**!"

And then _he_ came, Harry Potter did; all at once with a great ejaculatory burst and bung up Draco Malfoy's willing channel like a hurricane. Draco arched his spine into receiving it as a kneazle would into a stringent petting session, practically purring even as he choked out the last of his own satisfaction.

"Oh—o—ohhh! _**Harry**_!" he cried out, and spurted what seemed like a second tremendous load of spunk just as large as the first, straight onto the stinky, sweat and lube-soaked fabric of the sofa. "_My_ Harry…" he added breathlessly but with a snap to it, bound and determined to make that known for all to hear. For it was crucial; he knew it for certain—in the way far back of his mind—to point that out.

Particularly to those two gits, the ones watching them-Harry's bloody mates. _The_ gits. Gits, gits, gits!

"Um, ahhhh…" His lover collapsed atop him. "So, _so_ good. Draco. Brilliant. Gods, how I do love you."

"Love you, too—and next time do take a little longer over it?" Draco grumped fondly, wrenching his tired neck and glancing with great effort over his one tooth-marked shoulder. He peeped at his Harry, all scarlet-cheeked and huffing like the express, loud enough to deafen, right there by Draco's very well-licked ear. "I barely had a chance to catch up to you, twat."

"Um," Harry nipped his lover's earlobe in sweet vengeance. "Oh! Oh, Draco—look there! See them?"

Gawds! Merlin's saggy behind! It practically fused his eyes blind, the horror of it. Weaselbee's naked freckled cock and Granger's equally bushy brown muff—right there before him, bobbing up and swooping down—naked! Nude! Starkers!

Yuck-blech-_phooey_!

"Oh, Roooon! Ronniekins!" Granger sang out; Draco shuddered with innate revulsion.

"Ack! No!"

"Isn't it sweet?" Harry prodded at him, tickling Draco's perspiring ribs. "They're so in love it's gross, yeah?"

"Ick! Ack!" Draco shuddered. "Fucking _save_ me, Harry! Get a goddamn Room of your own, you two! Argh—yuck, my poor _eyes_! They burn!"

"Now, Draco, love—calm down. It's only what we've just done. They're in love, yeah?"

"Argh!"

Heterosexual lap sex—especially between Harry's two best mates—had to be _the_ biggest turn-off _ever_. Draco wrestled his way out from underneath his lover, Harry's softened cock leaving his slightly sore arse behind with a faint squishy sound.

"Out!" he demanded querulously, standing tall as he could manage, gathering his gaping shirt about him protectively. "I want out, Harry! You never said I'd have to deal with this, damn t!"

"Oh, now…Draco, love," Harry gripped him fast before he could bolt, wrapping their damp satisfied bodies together into an affectionate embrace. "Baby. At least admit it was an effective tactic. 'Sides—I've set a recording spell on the Room. I've a sort of Pensieve of it, see? Muggle film, though; can be played back any time we like, right? All of it—us _and_ them, going at it like bloody rabbits, right after each other. If they so much as say a single word against you from now on—"

"Ron-Ron-Ronniekins!" Granger-the swot-wasn't done yet; still declaiming.

'Oh-argh, yuck-yeah?"

"Oh, Hermione! Heeer-miii—own—neeee!"

"Eewww!"

And here it was clear the other two were approaching their mutual culmination, judging by the growls, howls and high-pitched giggles they were making.

"I've got blackmail material," Harry went on, snickering wickedly, rubbing his stubbly chin against Draco's chest and scraping it in passing. "Thanks to the Room. Right there." He pointed to a black-box shaped contraption, positioned just so, and humming away as it gathered evidence for use of, as and if needed. "Video camera, m'love. Plays back anywhere, anytime you want, it does, and doesn't even require a Penseive bowl. Fancy, eh?"

"Fancy!" Draco snorted, shivering under his lover's hands. "Humph!" he sniffed. "That's all very well and I should bloody well hope so, Potter. 'Cause there's no fucking way in Hades I'm ever—ever—doing this again! No. Way. In Hades. _Wanker_."

He scowled at the warbling duo across from them. The Weaselbee just couldn't seem to shut up—the Know-It-All was worse, what with her excitable giggling.

"Oh…lover," _his_ lover coaxed. "It was all for a good cause, admit it. Now we can go wherever we want, sit with one another whenever we wish—meals here; even Hogsmeade, come Saturday, if we care to—and _they_ won't dare say a word against it. Or over _you_, Draco. Most importantly."

"Hmm." Draco sneered, his eyes finding the evil awful image of Granger and Weaselbee, pumping and jumping, ruining the cushions on their own damned sofa. It galled him no end, having to see. "Right—_if_ you say so, Potter," he allowed, very reluctantly, wrenching his permanently scarred eyeballs away gratefully. So very red, the Weasel was—part of Draco's mind wondered if he might just burst. If so, he hoped his Harry's camera-thingbob would record it; he'd pay to see that again. "Fine. Now…a bath, please? Or at least a decent Scourgify? I have to leave this place before I sick up."

"Yes, love. Whatever you say." Harry nuzzled him, cuddling into Draco's taller form like a puppy, his gorgeous green eyes closing in delight. "'Cause you're mine, right? Very much mine, aren't you, Draco? All mine."

Draco blushed, something he tried to do very seldom, as it was such a dead giveaway…but for Harry, well. Well.

"Shut up, Foureyes. Yes, _yours_, git," he admitted hastily. "Of course, yours. Obviously—not that you need to make so much of it. Come along, then—we're leaving. I'm a frigging mess, Harry, and it's all your fault. I want to be clean again, if that's not too much to ask."

"Ummm..."

His unrepentant lover only squirmed closer—and the Weasel and his bloody know-it-all of a main squeeze choose that exact moment to cum _again_, naturally, shrieking 'Ah! Ah! **AHHHH**!' in hellish chorus.

"Draco, I do _so _love you—" This didn't seem to faze Harry as it did Draco, though. He blushed all the more, all of him.

"Sheesh! Shut it!"

"Love you, love you."

Which was soppy as all get out but gratefully accepted, all the same.

"But I _do_. You're warm and you're hot and nice to me and the way your arse-well, I just can't-"

"_Oh_!" Draco blushed darker still, helplessly cursing himself for it even as he rivalled a bloody red carnation, and twisted mightily in Harry's grip, forcibly spinning them 'round so he wouldn't be called upon to witness any more horrendously scarring Gryffindor sex. "Oh, _really_, Potter! _Do_ get a grip, will you? Bloody girl! Going on about my arse! Damn it!"

"Now, Draco...it's a lovely arse you have-"

Desperate for relief, he addressed the four solidly bland walls of the Room. "Hush, twat. Now! _Bath time_, Room—sod it, I _need_ a tub and a loofah and at the very least a sodding folding screen 'twixt them and me, d'you hear? Just shut them out, Room—I beg you! _Now_, please! I've suffered enough, thanks!"

_Fin_


End file.
